Battle for the Wastelands

by Matthew W Quinn

  Andrew laughed, a grin spreading over his face.

  “Yep.” He told her the tale of the capture of the dirigible and how they rode to the Merrill’s rescue. Somewhere during the tale, she slid an arm around him. Andrew’s heart began pounding. Cassie’s face rose into his mind, but he pushed the thought back down. He laid a hand on her thigh. Her fingers soon locked with his.

  “I was impressed with you boys taking the mortar during that ambush. But taking a whole dirigible and saving the Merrill’s bacon? That’s another bit of business entirely.”

  Andrew’s heart pounded in his ears. She was so warm and so close. Cassie might still live, but Alyssa was right here, so alive in a way that Hank and so many others weren’t. She wanted him and he wanted her and there might not be a tomorrow…

  It happened so quickly. Their lips locked together. Andrew didn’t know how long the first kiss lasted, but it was Alyssa who pulled back. She wore a big grin on her face.

  “Worth waiting for.” Then she kissed him again.

  This went on for awhile. Andrew’s hands slid forward, pushing her duster down from her shoulders. Pity there wasn’t a door, but with everyone else celebrating, that shouldn’t be a problem.

  Alyssa’s hands caught his wrists. “Don’t you worry, there’s plenty of time for that.” She winked. “Right now, there’s the party of the century going on out there, and I bet you’ll be the hero of the hour.” She pulled him to his feet. “C’mon. It’s not right, you hiding in here.”

  They barely got ten feet from the door when someone started clapping. It was Owen. Will stood nearby, smiling as much his bandaged face would allow.

  “Took you long enough,” Owen said. Will laughed.

  Andrew had to agree.

  Triumph, But…

  “Jasper Clark is dead,” Falki said flatly.

  The younger man stood at attention before Grendel’s vast desk. Grendel nodded before handing him a pair of telegrams that had arrived that morning. Falki’s eyes widened as he read them.

  Grendel already knew what they said. The first came from one of the archdeacons who presumed to speak for the entire Flesh-Eating Legion. It recounted the death of Jasper Clark and the events leading up to it.

  Grendel would mourn the loss of the very expensive airships more than the cannibalistic vassal he intended to betray, but his death did not end the problem. The Merrills now raided as far north as Pendleton. The archdeacon was sending soldiers from the Flesh-Eater core territory in the northeast to deal with this. All would be well, he said.

  The second came from a Flesh-Eater officer Isaac had suborned even before the death of James Merrill. The man was mostly interested in land and money and paid only lip service to Clark’s lunatic religion. Grendel had expected this telegram would be more honest. He was not disappointed.

  The Merrills carried Old World weapons. The officer estimated Pendleton would fall before Grendel received the telegram. Flesh-Eater forces were rolling southwest, but they had slammed into a popular insurgency spread by Merrill outriders. The army and clergy could not agree on how to handle the crisis. That made the situation even worse.

  Falki looked up after he finished reading. “How is this possible? The Merrills only have a handful of regiments. They couldn’t possibly —”

  “Now you see why I lecture you about putting just the right amount of weight in your hand. Clark was too hard. As soon as the opportunity came the people revolted. That handful of regiments is going to grow ten times soon enough.”

  Grendel had anticipated the Merrills might be more problematic for the Flesh-Eaters if Clark had to garrison the north, but not a reversal of this magnitude. He would need to recall those men immediately.

  “Is it time to send Havarth? He’s young, but with a trusted man to rule until he’s old enough —”

  Grendel pursed his lips. “That is a possibility. But first things first.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it? You’d planned to kill him, but now you have to avenge him.”

  Grendel smiled. The boy was learning even the most powerful man in the Northlands still did not have complete freedom of action. “Regardless of the weapons they carry, the Merrills are still few. They will overextend themselves. Once we turn the tables, they will be trapped above the Southern Wall and annihilated.”

  “We?” Falki asked. His incomprehension faded, followed by eagerness. “Both of us at the same time? I thought it was risky.”

  “Consider this a learning opportunity. Your company will be part of a much larger force and facing a much more dangerous foe, especially now. They will be much, much more challenging prey.” He paused, then allowed a measure of irritation into his voice. “You have been blooded before, but not enough. Your recent cock-up has likely damaged you in the eyes of many. Some victories under your belt will help fix that.” He fixed his son with a hard look. “Do not make me regret this.”

  Falki nodded. “I will not.”

  “Good.” Grendel paused. “This also factors into the invasion of the south. I have not called up this many since the wars with Camrose. This will work out any problems coordinating, blood the younger men, and keep the armies busy while the railroads are built. And if Quantrill eats a bullet or shell, so much the better. That would be two long-term problems solved, not just one.” Grendel smiled. “Alonzo Merrill thinks he has won a great victory. We will show him one can win a battle and lose a war.”

  Falki leaned forward. “How soon?”

  “The armies were already mobilizing. The first airships can be there in a week, two at most.”

  The last time he had gone to war himself, it had been against James Merrill. Now it was time to kill the son just as he had the father and pave the way for his own blood to claim the Merrill patrimony.

  Catalina paced the confines of her small room, knee-length black skirts swishing when she came to a wall. She sat on her bed and tried to leaf through an engineering book John had given her just before he’d left for Bluebell Creek, but the window overlooking Norridge kept reclaiming her attention. Above the tallest buildings floated the black dirigibles of the Obsidian Guard. Soon Grendel would send them south. Send them to war.

  The tyrant had been gone for several days and hadn’t told her what he was up to. However, Cora had been all too willing to fill in the details. That shrew said Grendel intended to finish the Merrills once and for all. She’d asked Grendel to bring Alonzo’s head back, to set it up in his bedroom.

  To watch next time Grendel summoned Catalina.

  She closed her eyes. Slowly, she forced that horrible image from her mind. She returned her attention to the airships.

  A dirigible flotilla could move only at the speed of the slowest. Once the fleet left, it shouldn’t take long for them to arrive in the realm her family once ruled. She ran what she knew about the speed of a big transport dirigible through her head. Her heart sank. Once the big propellers started spinning, they’d be in Jacinto in days.

  Catalina clenched her fist, her nails digging into her palm. If only she had a way to warn her brother! She doubted he could defeat the gathering armada — their father at the peak of his power couldn’t — but if he knew the hammer was going to fall, he could prepare.

  But she wasn’t loyal like the rest of Grendel’s whores. She was a prisoner of war, only her prison was a well-appointed apartment in Grendel’s citadel rather than the mines of the western Basin or those damned cotton plantations the Flesh-Eaters had on the Grand River. She wasn’t allowed to send letters.

  Maybe the others could help? She shook her head. None would risk their comfortable idleness for her sake, but maybe if she figured some way to trick one…

  She shook her head. When Grendel had first taken her captive, she’d kept to herself, not befriending his other concubines. Most of them were camp followers or other trash and she the daughter of a cattle-king, even though at seventeen she was youngest. And when Hayes was born, she focused all of her attention on him. She’d dealt with the othe
r women mostly on matters pertaining to their children.

  Damn it.

  She’d put herself at a major disadvantage. She had no real friends, not even allies. And she was in a poor position to make them now, with her reputation of unsociability, and lacking even the others’ limited freedom. And a sudden attempt to be sociable would look suspicious.

  And with Grendel away, the petty intrigues of his harem would worsen. Lenora wanted Logmar to become first lord. She’d take advantage of Grendel’s absence to intrigue against Falki and Arne. Or worse, plot against Hayes so he couldn’t threaten Logmar the way Logmar threatened the elder two. The thought of the Obsidian Guard bayoneting her little boy at that whore’s instigation sent a shudder rolling through her.

  Then the ghost of a smile appeared on her face.

  Jessamine was new to Grendel’s harem and wouldn’t remember Catalina’s earlier unfriendliness. Should the old monster put her in a family way, her child would be young and vulnerable just like Hayes. The next time she saw Jessamine, she would go out of her way to talk to her.

  “Mama, where’s Pa going?” Hayes walked through the door, carrying the stuffed cat toy Astrid had given him and wearing a black romper suit Catalina had trimmed with green. He looked toward the window and the gathering airships, curiosity lighting his gray eyes. Those damned gray eyes…

  She grit her teeth. He’s a little boy, she told herself. My little boy, not just his. And he misses his pa, however much a complete son of a bitch the man is.

  “He’s going south, Hayes.” She stepped to the side, allowing her son to approach the window. He climbed onto her bed to get a better look at the dirigibles.

  “What’s he doing?”

  This was tricky. If Catalina told him the truth, he’d spill the beans to Grendel when he returned. This wasn’t like telling him about what should have been his homeland or even teaching him to treat others as he’d like to be treated. Grendel would kill her for telling Hayes his father intended to murder his uncle and kill his people. Then who’d teach the boy proper values? Certainly not his father, his brothers, or his collection of wicked stepmothers.

  “He’s visiting your Uncle Alonzo.” As she spoke, she examined his clothing. The black Grendel insisted he wear made him look far too pale, although the green he allowed her to add brightened it up a little. There was some dirt on it. He must’ve been playing in the garden with his sisters Lin and Rose. Lenora’s and Cora’s daughters. Delightful. She’d have to check with Astrid to see how they got along.

  “Is he coming home soon?”

  She shook her head. “It may not be for a long time, chickabiddy.”

  She hoped it would be for a long time, and that he returned empty-handed. If Grendel returned with her brother’s head, she doubted she could stop herself from trying to kill him at first chance. Even if it meant Grendel would kill her or Falki would kill Hayes.

  She closed her eyes. Kill those cannibal bastards, brother mine, and dig in. All hell is coming for you now.

  She didn’t expect him to kick Grendel’s tailbone up between his shoulder blades, but maybe he could keep the tyrant busy, keep him away from Norridge.

  Away long enough for her to finally cause some trouble.

  The people of Pendleton roared their adulation as the mounted Merrill host streamed through the open gates into the vast city. The captured Flesh-Eater airship floated overhead, green and yellow Merrill heraldry already painted on both sides.

  Hundreds crowded the streets beneath red brick buildings taller than any Andrew had ever seen. Others leaned out of open windows, throwing flowers and paper confetti. Gunfire crackled here and there.

  The reports about the enemy garrisons being depleted were true. The Southern Wall forts the Merrills had attacked fell far more easily than Andrew had expected. The Flesh-Eaters had abandoned other outposts to avoid getting crushed in place. The marvelous repeaters from the excavation site, farther-reaching than his old rifle and lighter to boot, enabled the Merrills to devastate Flesh-Eater forces they’d previously fled. And Clark’s death fucked up enemy morale.

  Ahead amid vast open space lay Pendleton’s towering concrete citadel. The green Merrill flag fluttered from atop a spire studded with artillery. Andrew snorted. If the Flesh-Eaters had retreated inside and barred the gate, it would have been a right bitch to deal with, Old World weapons or not. They must’ve been spread out through the city and, when word of the approaching Merrill army arrived, been torn apart where they stood.

  Serves the bastards right.

  The gates of the star-shaped fortress lay open. A group of burly men, some with clockwork limbs, waited there. They held in their hands things Andrew couldn’t make out, things dripping blood.

  At the head of the column was the Merrill. He rode up to the men in the gates, who all went to one knee before him. They lifted whatever was in their hands in offering.

  Something twisted in Andrew’s stomach. The men were offering the Merrill severed heads!

  “Who’re those guys?” Andrew asked, leaning toward Alyssa.

  Alyssa leaned forward. “Shoemakers, I reckon. We’re not the only ones fighting the Flesh-Eaters.”

  The Merrill said something to the men. They rose to their feet and filed off, still carrying the heads.

  Andrew watched the men disappear into the citadel. “Who’d those heads belong to?”

  “Probably the Flesh-Eaters in charge or locals that kissed their ass. They’ll be decorating the walls soon.”

  Andrew couldn’t object to that.

  Afterword

  Thank you for completing my novel Battle for the Wastelands. I hope that you enjoyed the experience. If you’re looking for more content from me, you can visit my Amazon author page at shorturl.at/ptzK1. If you’d like exclusive content and the progress of future books in the series, you can sign up for my newsletter at shorturl.at/gxHJO. A Falki novella “Son of Grendel” is slated for release in the near future, while I hope to have the second full novel in the series released sometime in 2020.

  Good or bad, all reviews are appreciated.

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks to the Writers of Metro Atlanta and the Lawrenceville Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Group for spurring me to get this done in a timely fashion and helping me refine it. Also thanks to Matt Cowdery, Mikio Murikami, and Jason Sizmore for helping me refine and package this yet further.

  Thank you for completing my novel Battle for the Wastelands. I hope that you enjoyed the experience. You can find more of my fiction on my Amazon author page. If you’d like exclusive content, including the progress of future books in the series, you can sign up for my newsletter.